The child you were is the Child you still are

During my studies to become a counsellor, I came across a book I read with interest. Its premise - 'One's earliest recollected childhood memories will shape who you are today.' The more I read and thought about it, I began to ask certain people to share with me their earliest childhood memories - some were very good and some were not so good. Surprisingly, I was able to tell them to some degree of accuracy their personality traits.
So one day, I recall laying on my bed and began to think back to my childhood and the memories I had of it. To my surprise my earliest recollected memory was quite a traumatic event. I began to cry and shake - I was 23 at the time.  I hesitate to share this with you - strangers really in my life - yet I do both as a continual healing process and as help to someone out there who may have experienced a similar life experience. So here it goes - I recall my father coming home in a drunken stupor and rage. I remember him cradeling my mom on their bed as he beat her viciously, yelling at her. I remember her pleading with him to stop.  I remember the pool of blood I would jump over for days, weeks...even when it was cleaned up that same day.  I remember the fear I felt, the overwhelming flood of emotions of confusion, hurt and fear of my father. I was about 4 years of age!
This is who I am today:
  - afraid of angry people
  - afraid of personal criticism
  - afraid of failure and abandonment
  - give into others rather that stand up for myself
  - have difficulty with control issues
  - need approval of others and do what I need to gain it
  - low self esteem of myself
I am 45 years old!  41 years later I still fight with these issues every single day.  I have come a long long way to effectively deal with these issues and still have a long way to go. I write this to tell you, that there is hope.
I know there is - I'm an example of that hope.
Until next time.......

A Child's Hurting Heart

Have you ever wondered what alcohol does to a family? Well, sit back and let me tell you a story.
My parents were what you could call weekend alcoholics. Yes, just as the name implies.... I am sure there are many people who can be classified and even call themselves -or even you - a weekend alcoholic. 
When Friday afternoon was here -which was immediately after work - the party usually started.  Here I would be sitting at home alone at 9 yrs of age or getting dropped off at grandpa and grandma's home for the weekend, again.
The feeling of utter loneliness, hurt, confusion and internal turmoil  would haunt me from the inside out. I remember crying myself to sleep.  I recall looking out the window..till the wee hours of the morning knowing. NO! actually hoping - that the next car driving by would be my mom stopping to pick me up and take me home.....just like she said.  Yet, it never happened. The power of HOPE that a child has.  The innocence of believing that what they tell you - they would actually do  but when it does not happen your entire little world of what you know  about it comes crashing down on you.  Leaving you feeling so . . . so. . . I honestly do not have the words to describe the feeling that I had.  ALL I know is that it HURT. Deeply.
Have you ever felt like that?  Have you ever felt the pain of a broken heart - the hurt being so intense that it was almost too difficult  to cry.. and when you did cry the heaviness of your heaving left your chest painfully aware that you really miss Mommy and Daddy and all you want is to be with them. Even if you know that they are drunk....
More next time.....